Time and the Moon
by MuggleBeene
Summary: AU Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley have broken up after 2 years, by mutual consent. On a spur-of-the-moment holiday Hermione wishes upon the moon to make things better. The moon fulfils her wish, as she meets someone new, but things change in a way she never imagined possible. Time travel, post-Hogwarts, ignores the epilogue. Not part of the Professor Muggle series.
1. Holiday

**Time and the Moon**

Chapter 1: Holiday

_A/N: This is an AU post-Hogwarts story that pays no attention whatsoever to the Epilogue._

As the door closed to her new flat, Hermione Granger sat on the one chair that didn't have a box on it and immediately replayed the conversation she just had with her boyfriend...and then she mentally corrected herself. Her ex-boyfriend. She knew that the conversation would come up eventually, that things just weren't working out between them, but in her imagination things went quite differently. She imagined shouting, pleading, having to lay things out for him and it going quite badly. Floo calling Harry Potter to go find him in one of the pubs before he got legless and did something stupid. Tense moments later on at one of Molly Weasley's Sunday dinners, unspoken tension over asking for the salt.

But Ron Weasley didn't keep to the script.

Instead, after helping her move everything into her new place he popped down to the off-license, came back with beer and suggested that they have a chat. That caught her off-guard, because Ron never suggested they needed to have a chat; instead they replayed variations on the same theme they'd always done since first year at Hogwarts. Ever since they began dating after that awful day when the war ended, when things became difficult, Hermione would have to pull things out of Ron in drips and drabs, state her position and he would become flustered, as if the words were all built up behind his teeth and actually enunciating anything approaching English seemed impossible except in bursts of anger. That was what she expected. She planned to talk to him soon, but he beat her to it.

As he handed her a beer and opened one for himself he sat down on top of one of her boxes of books and gave her a sad smile.

"Hermione, I love you, always will. But I think we both know this isn't working. Not for you, not for me, it's...we're really not in love with each other, are we?"

"No. Ron. I don't think we are."

"No thinking about it, really. We're not. You know, I think maybe it was the war, coming out of that, you finishing Hogwarts, me helping George, you starting at the Ministry...hell, all the shite we've been through. Nobody knows how much except Harry. Tends to make a person close, right?"

Even though she wasn't much of a beer drinker she downed a good potion of the bottle and listened. He made good points. They'd been moving around each other the last few months. They hadn't slept together in ages, and even when they had it had been as if they were just going through the motions because they didn't know what else to do. The fact that they'd been together for two years and hadn't moved in together, even though it was the natural next step. Ginny had moved in with Harry after signing on with Harpies, much to Molly's dismay, even before he had proposed, and the fact that neither of them was fussed at all that they weren't engaged.

"So where's this leave us, Ron?"

Ron sat his beer bottle on the floor, got up from the box and walked over to her. He knelt down and took her face in his hands. "Like I said, Hermione. I'll always love you. But we both know we're better friends than anything else. I'll always need you, you know. Just like you'll need a kick in the arse to get your head out of the books and have fun every now and then."

He kissed her one last time, but there was no passion in his kiss. Without another word he got up, smiled at her, and let himself out.

Now, after replaying it again in her mind, she finished her beer and continued to stare at the door. "Damn you, Ronald Weasley. I hate it when you're right." After a few minutes she got up, picked up the beer bottle Ron had left and after a moment's hesitation drained it. Standing there in her new flat, her house in as much disarray as her life, she wasn't sure what to do next so she did what she always did, what must be done. She opened the box Ron had sat on and began unpacking her books.

-ooo-

A week later, on a Saturday morning, the Floo roared to life.

"Hermione, you there?"

"Coming!" She hurried and knelt before the fireplace. "Hello, Ginny. Thought you were busy with Quidditch today?"

"Nah, Gwennog canceled practice. Said we could use another day's rest after that six hour Ballycastle match. I have breakfast."

"Please, come on through. I've just put the kettle on."

Moments later, after brushing away the Floo powder, the two Gryffindor friends sat at Hermione's little kitchen table, a box of doughnuts in-between them.

"I like your place."

Hermione looked around her flat. It wasn't much, really, but it was hers. There was a small living room with an oriental rug, two mis-matched but comfortable chairs she needed to recover, the small kitchen which she's painted a bright, cheerful yellow colour and down the hallway her bedroom and the spare room she'd turned into her office, bookshelves filling almost every inch of space. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

"Must seem rather small compared to your place."

Ginny waved her off. "Like I had anything to do with that. You know Harry, give him an idea and he'll go above and beyond. I told him that first place of his, that fourth floor walk-up was too tiny, and then he went and built that place. I think he wants to compete with mum and dad, all those bedrooms.

Hermione smiled, remembering how Harry had shown her through the house when the builders were framing it out. He'd been so happy, ecstatic even, pointing out different rooms, how the sun would shine though the master bedroom in the morning. She'd been sworn to secrecy so he could surprise Ginny with the place, and the house out near Godric's Hollow was grand but homey, a place that she knew he envisioned full of children. He told Hermione that he thought about waiting to have Ginny move in until after they were engaged but as soon as Ginny saw it he just couldn't contain himself and asked her to move in with him.

"It's a wonderful house, Ginny. Are you still planning on getting married there or has the Ministry made your wedding an official event?"

"Shut up, don't give anyone ideas. Besides, you're Ministry."

"Yes, but only slightly. And I am your friend. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Can you imagine all the forms and procedures that would require?"

"Ghastly." Ginny took a sip of tea and hesitated for a moment. "I spoke to Ron yesterday."

"Oh?" Hermione feigned indifference. "How is he?"

"He's...well, he's a bit mopey. Sad that it didn't work out, but other than that he's ok. How are you doing?"

"About the same as him, actually. It is sad, but it was the right thing to do." She saw something in Ginny's eyes. "What is it? Come on."

Ginny sighed and sat down her teacup. "Harry and I talked about it. We both saw it coming but we didn't know what to do. We couldn't really say anything, could we? How do you tell two people that you care about that..."

"That it's over?" She shrugged. "Rather hard to do that."

"I still can't believe that it didn't end with hexes and a lot of _Reparo_ spells afterwards."

"I know. Funny, isn't it? He's changed. We both have."

"It's good that you're still friends. Harry was really worried about that."

"I bet he was. He's been in the middle too many times to count." Hermione flipped the box lid back open and hovered for a moment, finally deciding on a chocolate iced sprinkle doughnut. "Ron did say something that has been sticking in my mind, though. He told me to 'have fun every now and then.' Ginny, am I boring?"

"Well..." Ginny smirked at her. "You're definitely not the life of the party like Lavender Brown."

"Thank Merlin for small favours." Hermione hesitated for a second. "He hasn't taken up with _her_ again, has he?"

"What? Bloody hell, I thought we decided he's grown up a bit. No, he hasn't. Besides, she's seeing Dean Thomas."

"Since when?"

"Last Christmas? New Year's? Some holiday, they got drunk at a party but I can't remember which one. But you're not exactly boring."

"Exactly?"

"When's the last time you went and did something fun, something you didn't plan out? I know about your last holiday with Ron, I remember you planned it out at the Burrow. You had an itinerary."

Hermione went to open her mouth to say that she wasn't that bad and stopped. After a moment she sighed and nodded her head. "I did do that, didn't I?"

"You did. There's nothing wrong with that, if you think it's fun go right on, don't let me stop you. Harry said, the night after you planned the holiday, that it was just like back at Hogwarts when you made up revision schedules for everyone. How about your planner? The one I got you last Christmas? It's full of what's going to happen next week, and the week after that. How far ahead do you have things mapped out?"

A sinking feeling traveled through her body as Hermione realized that she had every single week planned out until there were no more pages in the planner. "Ahh, um..."

Ginny leaned forward. "That's not a bad thing, you know. Organisation. With my schedule and Harry's we have to do it to coordinate everything. You know, practices, matches, his Auror schedule...but we do things sometimes and say the hell with the schedule. You'll find the right balance for you."

After a few moments of silence Hermione sat back in her chair. "But what if it isn't the right balance for..."

"Ah. Right." Ginny reached into the box and pulled out a jam-filled doughnut. "I don't think that was the reason, you know. I don't think there was any one reason except it didn't work anymore. That's just me on the outside looking in, take that for what it's worth. I think you will find someone, and when you do...you'll know. Trust me."

-ooo-

A month late Hermione sat at her desk in the Ministry, going through her schedule. There was a meeting she should attend, parchment to read, but for some reason she just couldn't concentrate. Giving it up as a bad job she stood up, straightened her robe and decided to go down to the canteen to see if a small snack might improve her concentration.

As she got in the lift two wizards joined her, one of them in the robes of the Department of Magical Cooperation and the other in a bright red robe with white trim, a different red of the standard Auror robes. They were obviously continuing their conversation and she didn't want to intrude so she shifted towards the back of the lift. Not able to contain her curiosity she listened and realized that she didn't understand a word. It wasn't English, as it sounded Scandinavian, so she glanced over to the folder that the wizard in the red robe held in his hand and recognized the flag of Denmark.

The lift stopped a floor before her destination and the two wizards left, leaving her alone. She was still, not really thinking of anything, so when the lift began again she was momentarily jarred and reached out to the wall to steady herself. Finally, the lift stopped on her floor and she exited, saying hello to a few people on her way, and eventually stood in front of the pastry display.

"Hello there, dearie? Feeling a bit peckish?" The witch behind the counter slid the back of the display open and slid a pan into place. "These just came out, wonderful hot, they are. Fancy one?"

Hermione looked into the glass of the display and saw cheese Danish, covered with icing. Deciding it was a sign she nodded. "One, please."

Ten minutes later Hermione brushed the crumbs off of her desk into her hand and emptied them in the wastebin. Thirty minutes later she walked out of her supervisor's office. An hour later she walked out of the travel agent's office. Four hours later she stood in front of the international portkey. Four hours and ten minutes later she stood in the portkey station in Copenhagen, Denmark. Five hours later she stood in her hotel room and looked out at the lights of Denmark. It was the second of June, in the year 2000, and she no idea whatsoever what she would do for the next three weeks.

-ooo-

For the first week Hermione availed herself to the wonders of the magical section of Copenhagen, visiting bookshops, museums and, surprisingly, a branch of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes which was not one of her better ideas. The moment she walked in the door she was afraid that she'd run into George, or worse, Ron, but thankfully the shop was manned by what she considered Danish George-types. They were gregarious, slightly mental, but nice. It seemed rather odd, seeing familiar products but with the text in Danish, but somewhat comforting.

She ate her meals alone, usually, except for one night when she joined an elderly Welsh couple for dinner. The couple were staying at the hotel on their retirement world tour and the witch had recognized her, or at least she thought she did, and had her husband come over to speak with her for corroboration. It was the only time she had been recognized, thank Merlin, but instead of being irritated it was rather comforting. Thankfully there was no mention of Voldemort or the war; instead the couple were overjoyed to find a ready audience to hear about their travels.

Later that night, lying in the comfort of her rather large bed, she kept thinking about all of the different places the couple had visited. The next morning, after breakfast, she packed her single small bag, rearranging the contents of the undetectable extension charmed luggage and moved the warm weather clothing towards the top. She checked out, visited the concierge and three hours later stood in the warm sand of North Carolina as the surf washed over her feet.

-ooo-

The little cottage she had rented was rather expensive, but at that point Hermione didn't care. It was slightly larger than her flat, furnished with comfortable well-worn furniture, and gave her a clear view to the ocean. When she'd checked in the wizard behind the counter heard her accent and kept banging on and on about how nice it was to have 'visitors from across the pond' and about the history of the island, how it was hidden from Muggles and was part of an old Native American magical tradition, legendary or some such, but she really couldn't be arsed to pay attention. All she wanted was the key, to drop off her bag, take off her shoes, roll up her trousers and feel the sand between her toes.

That night, after storing the half-eaten takeaway in the charmed refrigerator, she walked down to the shore. The moon was bright, giving the edges of the waves the illusion of being lit up with a _Lumos_ spell before the dashed against the shore. After gathering some driftwood and summoning a bit more she lit a small fire with her wand. She sat down, scrunching her toes under the sand and gathering her thin cotton cardigan around her shoulders, as the wind had begun to pick up. It was then that it all came in on her; everything that had happened with Ron, her dissatisfaction with the Ministry and her inability to change its seemingly unchanging ways, a small pang of jealousy of the happiness of Harry and Ginny. The flames danced in front of her, reflecting off of the face of her watch. She stared down at it, watching the second hand complete its inexorable sweep and sighed deeply. It was so hard finding balance. She knew that was one of her weaknesses; finding something intriguing she would throw herself into it, disappearing for hours, days, weeks, until she figured it out, solved it or had exhausted every source. Was it that sting of being a Muggleborn, having to prove herself to the prejudiced purebloods? It wasn't as bad as it used to be, but the slights and dismissal of her ideas at the Ministry grated on her nerves regardless.

"Merlin's fucking pants." She picked up a piece of driftwood and fed it to the fire. "And now my problem to solve is my own damn brain. Damn you, Ron Weasley, now you've got me cursing!" She poked the fire with another piece of driftwood, causing sparks to swirl and rush up into the sky. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, turning the beach a darker colour as the wind picked up. "Time. I just need time. Time heals all wounds. And now I'm talking to myself. Bloody hell. I'm tired, tired of always worrying about my schedule, about Ron, about not being with Ron, about everything."

She stood up, doused the fire with an _Auguamenti_ spell and put her wand in her back pocket. On the way back up the beach to her cottage she realized that a good, long sleep would help her out more than anything. The moon slid out from under a cloud for a moment, and she turned back, her attention caught by the change of illumination. Suddenly she thought back of when she was small, first starting Muggle school, standing in the garden of her house with her father. He'd comforted her after a bad day, pointing out the constellations even though he knew she couldn't tell what he was talking about, but she focused on the moon. She asked him if there was a man in the moon and he had laughed softly, telling her that there wasn't a man in the moon but there had been a man on the moon. Now, standing on the beach, she looked up as the moon shone down brightly and wished there was a man on the moon so she could ask him when her life would finally go right. As if he had any answers. She laughed, surprising herself, and headed back up the beach. Time, she just needed time, or else she'd go mental.

As her back was turned she didn't see the blue ring flash around the moon. Soon the clouds covered the moon, the wind began to rise and the rain started.

-ooo-

When Hermione woke up the sun was streaming through the windows, the sound of the waves washed over her and more than anything she felt...refreshed. Energized. As if she'd taken one of the most perfect dreamless sleep potions ever created. She yawned, stretched, and blew her bangs out of her eyes in irritation. Usually she remembered to put her hair back before going to sleep but for some reason she had forgotten. For a moment she thought about taking a shower to tame he hair but suddenly realized she absolutely did not have to do that; why bother taking a shower when there was a whole ocean out there?

With a slight giggle at herself she got out of bed, went to the loo for her morning ablutions and then went to her bag and pulled out two swimsuits and laid them on the unmade bed. One was a deep blue one-piece swimsuit that wasn't completely modest but wasn't too revealing, and the other...the other was a red bikini with a somewhat skimpy bottom that she'd purchased on impulse a year ago with the thought of wearing it for Ron but had never gathered the nerve. Part of her brain said 'wear the red one!' but she just couldn't do it. She was on an unscheduled beach holiday after visiting Denmark but there was only so much she could handle at one time.

As she made her way down to the beach, after the sunscreen spell, she looked around and was surprised to see more cottages along the shore. Apparently she just hadn't paid that much attention to the other cottages. Along with the additional buildings there were more people on the beach, several families, some couples and a few men splashing about down at the far end. She looked for the remains of her fire from the night before but it wasn't there; the surf must have taken it. After putting down her chair and setting up the umbrella she put on her hat, adjusted her glasses and pulled out a Muggle romance novel that Ginny had given her some time ago. It was obvious that it had been well-read, as the spine was creased in spots. The cover was the most lurid thing ever, some Scotsman in a kilt, shirtless, with a woman next to him in what looked like a police constable's uniform from the 1970's. That was rather confusing, but after a few chapters in she realized that it was a time-travel novel, that the police constable had traveled back in time and was stuck in Scotland with the man in the kilt.

Disgusted, she gently tossed the book into the sand. "Rubbish."

"What's rubbish? You know what that means, don't you Jack, you snobby Brit."

She snapped her head up to see four men walking down towards the shore, not more than ten meters away. The tallest one, a blonde without a shirt and wearing garish green and white swim trunks, walked over to her and picked up the book. The other three followed, the next-tallest one, a dark-headed man wearing a light blue t-shirt and solid red trunks gave the others a look she recognized right away. The same sort of look that Harry gave when Seamus Finnegan used to get a bit squiffy and tried to chat up women who were obviously not interested.

The tall blonde let the book fall open, read a few pages and then gave her an exaggerated look of shock. "Wow, guys, it's like a full on sex scene in here!"

Hermione sighed, set her shoulders, glared at the blonde and held out her hand. "That is my book. Return it, please."

"She sounds just like you, Jack." The blonde turned to the dark-headed man and the other two men, a red-head and another blonde, joined their friends. The blonde with the book handed it to the other blonde. "Look, Dustin, it's just like Playwitch Letters!"

Hermione continued staring at the first blonde man. "My book, please."

Dustin, the blonde with the book handed it to the short redhead and pointed something out, causing the smaller man to snigger. The dark-headed man stepped over, pulled the book out of the redhead's hands and walked over to Hermione.

"Here you go. Sorry about that."

"No, I'm not." The first blonde took it out of Hermione's hands. "I'm Chip, Chip Johnson. Tell you what, I'll give it back to you tonight. I'm having a party, Cottage 22. It'll be fun, there's beer, food, you name it. Show up and have a drink and I'll give it back. Now that I know what you're into maybe we could have a bit of fun, huh?"

Chip gave her an air kiss, laughed, kicked sand at his friends and headed down the beach, Hermione's book tucked into the front waistband of his trunks. The redhead and the blonde called Dustin followed, leaving the other man behind.

He stood there, watched them walk away and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up in all different directions. He tried to make it lie down but some pieces refused to comply. "Sorry about that. I'll get it back for you, if you'd like."

She snorted. "After what he did with it I think the best thing would be to burn it."

He tilted his head and nodded. "Yeah, after what I've seen this week that's probably for the best. I'm Jack, by the way."

For a moment Hermione hesitated. She remembered how the Welsh couple had awkwardly skirted the conversation about the war when she'd had dinner with them and wanted to avoid that at all costs. Somewhat in a panic she decided to improvise, using her middle name. "Jean. Nice to meet you, Jack. Is that a London accent?"

"Well spotted. Same as you, obviously." He sat down on the sand next to her chair. "Off for a bit of holiday as well, eh?"

"Yes. Work and things were just...too much."

"Yeah, tell me about it." He leaned back and looked out over the ocean. "Sorry about those berks. I answered an advert about sharing a cottage on the beach, to split costs. Had no idea what I was getting mysef into, really."

"Its quite all right. A friend gave me the book. Not my type of thing."

He turned to her. "Not one for romance novels, huh?"

For some reason she felt as if she knew him, something was familiar about him. It hit her as she fumbled for what to say, as his eyes were as green as Harry's. "Uh, um, not at the moment, no."

Jack continued to look at her for a moment and then he gave her a comforting smile. "Breakup, huh? Yeah..." He turned back to the ocean. "Part of why I'm here, really. What'd he do, sleep with your best friend?"

That caught her off-guard. She spluttered for a moment and then laughed. "I hope not, my best friend is his sister."

"Ewwww!" Jack made a horrible face then looked at her. "Talk about something else, anything. I have two sisters."

"Ok." She laughed and took off her sunglasses. "So what do you know about this island? When I checked in the old wizard kept going on about how this is some legendary place."

"Oh." He turned and faced her, moving slightly to get into the shade. "Yeah, it's a big deal here. What draws the tourists like us. Ok, maybe not me and since you asked me I'm guessing not you as well. It was a hidden island for years, they only found it in the 1800's or so. Native Americans said this place was full of deep magic, lunar magic, the moon is supposedly a big deal to them. The legend is that on certain nights you can make a wish on the moon and it will come true, but like most legends the stories don't go exactly right. You know, like leprechaun gold. It's gold, but it disappears. Like in old Beedle when the two brothers get the Hallows but it goes all pear-shaped."

Even though the sun was blasting down out of the sky Hermione felt a chill run through her body. She hadn't thought of the Hallows in at least a year. "So that's why people come here, to wish on the moon?"

Jack shrugged. "Really? I think they come here for the sun and the beach and because the drinks are cheap. Speaking of that, would you like to go get one, Jean?"

"A drink?" She looked at her watch. "It's half-ten in the morning?"

"Yeah, but we're on holiday." He smiled at her but then it fell away quickly. "And trust me, you do not want to go to Chip's party. Turns into a drunken mess and I think he might be slipping something into the drinks. Woke up after the first night with a screaming hangover. As for the other people in the house...well, the less said...let's just say there were more than a few women who weren't too proud that morning."

"I think I'll give it a pass." She looked at him and it was as if there were the stereotypical angel and devil on her shoulders, debating whether or not to take Jack up on the offer of his drink. He was rather fit, nice-looking and seemed rather nice. Mentally she saw the angel and the devil on her shoulders give him the once-over and both nod. "But I think I will have that drink. Maybe something with rum and one of those little umbrellas that twirl?"

"I know the place. I think." He stood up. "We might have to ride around a bit first."

"Ride?" She stood up and folded her chair. "We're going by broom?"

He grinned widely. "Oh, no, not a broom. I have a motorbike. Took me ages to get the shrinking spell down so it'd work, had to have my Granddad help, it used to be his. Won't take but a moment, though, it's up the road at the main cabin. Park it there so no idiot at our cabin will get any bright ideas after a few too many drinks." He pulled her umbrella out of the sand and folded it up. "Let's put these on your deck and we'll be off. You'll need shoes, though."

-ooo-

For Hermione the week was like something out of one of those Muggle romantic comedies that she and Ginny used to make fun of whilst secretly enjoying. She and Jack explored the island on his motorbike, her behind him with her arms wrapped around his nicely firm waist. They bought lunch from local shops, sat on the beach and spent hours lazing in the sun. One evening they happened across a wedding reception and somehow managed to become part of the party. It was rather odd hearing the name 'Jean Wiltshire' come out of her mouth instead of Hermione Granger, though. The combination of her middle name and her mum's maiden name seemed to do the trick, though, as nobody recognized her. She did like how Mister Jack Elliot put his arm around her as they danced, though.

And they did dance, in more ways than one. The attraction was obviously mutual. He wasn't forward; her friends had told her horror stories about men with just one thing on their mind, but Jack was very polite. Not too polite, thank Merlin. She knew where things were heading, as he probably did, but they didn't act upon it. Instead they sat on the beach or on her little deck as the sun went down over the water and talked about their lives. He had come out of a relationship where, as she had suspected from his initial question, his girlfriend had slept with his best friend. She told him about Ron in the vaguest terms but enough that he knew that she had been hurt, even though the breakup was mutual. As for their jobs, what they did in the 'real' world, neither of them felt the need to bring it up.

It was the last Wednesday of Hermione's holiday when it happened. They had cooked a late supper in her cottage with things that they'd shopped for earlier that day, and how they moved around each other in the kitchen was the start. A sidestep with a touch of the hand here, a brush against a stomach or bum there. A bottle of wine had been opened and before they knew it the time had slipped away. He had tried to leave but she held out her hand to him. He took it, they looked at each other and the mess stayed in the kitchen until the next morning.

-ooo-

The last morning of her holiday found Hemione on the back of Jack's motorbike, zipping through the winding roads, hoping that there was some way she could find to tell Jack the truth. That she wasn't Jean Wiltshire, she was Hermione Jean Granger, that there was some way that he could handle all that entailed back home. Home. London. Back to the Ministry, back to being the ex-girlfriend of Ron Weasley, back to being happy for Harry and Ginny in their enormous house, back to schedules. She wanted nothing more than for Jack to pull off the road, onto one of the access roads to the beach and to find a way to tell him everything, hoping that what she'd felt in the short time she'd been with him was more than just a rebound holiday fling, that he'd understand and take her in his arms and just hold her.

Jack did pull off the road, he did go onto one of the access roads, but instead of having that dreaded conversation about her real identity he was rather cross. The motorbike wasn't running properly. She sat in the shade as he pulled tools out of a small bag fastened at the back.

"Dammit!" He tossed a wrench towards the ground. "I wish Granddad was here, he knows how to fix it when it does this. I wanted to show you something really special today since..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Bloody hell, come on you ancient piece of metal!"

"It doesn't look that old."

"Phhhp." He picked up the wrench and went back to work, glanced over his shoulder to her and nodded towards the bike. "It's from the 1970's, but they definitely don't make them like this. One of a kind."

"Maybe you can show me when we get back to London." There. She'd broached the topic. Now she stared at him as he turned the wrench.

After a few moments he stood up, took out his wand and cast some spells on the bike too quickly for her to make out what he'd said. "Well, sure, yeah, but it's better here than in London. I might've fixed it though. Only one way to find out." He put the tools back in the bag, fastened the latch and straddled the bike. "Come on. If this works, and it will work, won't it?" He patted the fuel tank. "If this works it'll be better than when we ride in London."

Hermione nodded and got on the bike, wrapping her arms around him. She sighed heavily. 'When we ride in London.' That made her happy for a moment but then her heart fell. They would ride in London if he could handle the fact that she was Hermione, not Jean.

They sped up the access road, headed out on the main road for a bit and then, out of nowhere, she felt the bike _lift_. The trees began to grow, their leaves coming closer and her stomach began to give away a bit and then they were soaring, fast, above the trees.

"Bloody brilliant, isn't it!" Jack shouted back to her against the wind. "Granddad said it was the only thing better than a broom!"

Hermione's mind began to spin, warring with her fear of flying. She knew of only one motorbike that could fly...but it couldn't be his. Jack said it was his granddad's and it was quite silly of her...Sirius Black didn't have any children. Someone had obviously figured out how to do it or Sirius had shown them how. Coincidence. That had to be it.

The trees began to grow closer and before she could think on it any further they rejoined the road with a slight skid, causing her to scream.

"Sorry, Jean!" Jack slowed the motorbike to a speed that was more conducive to conversation. "I've been meaning to show you that but it's been acting all wonky lately."

"It's quite all right."

He laughed. "I take it you don't like flying?"

"No."

He laughed harder. "So not a Quidditch player, then?"

"I'm quite happy being a spectator."

Jack laughed again as Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. She kept working on the question of Jack's flying motorbike as they rode along, so when he pulled the bike to a stop outside of her cottage she was rather surprised. She let go, eased off the bike and stood next to him.

"What time is the portkey off the island?"

He looked at his watch. "About an hour. I'll go pack and meet you back here? I..." He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up. "I thought we could go together then, if you want, we could go out to eat. I know a really nice place."

"I'd like that."

"Good. It's sorted, then." He stepped forward and kissed her.

Hermione felt her Gryffindor courage melt away. She knew she would have to tell him eventually, but she couldn't do it right away. Maybe after dinner in London. She held onto him for a few more moments and then broke their kiss. "I'll be waiting for you."

-ooo-

They stood together, holding hands, as the wheelbarrow turned blue. After the usual disorientating portkey trip there they were in the London International Portkey station. It was, for Hermione, as if nothing had changed. People milled about waiting for their portkey, others waited for people to return. They left the room and headed down the hallway, still hand in hand, almost to the main lobby when Jack stiffened next to her and suddenly spun her around.

"Listen, Jean, I need to tell you something. I haven't been entirely truthful with you." He glanced over her shoulder and she could see the worry in his eyes. "Bloody hell."

"Jack! Jackie-boy!" A middle aged wizard with salt-and-pepper hair walked up them and stood close by. "Nicely done, lad!"

An exasperated witch in nicely tailored robes,chestnut-brown hair and glasses walked up quickly to them. "I'm glad you're home, Jack." She swatted the middle aged wizard across the stomach. "And I'm sorry, my dear, please ignore this old git. James Potter, you're horrible. Let Jack introduce her."

_James Potter?_ Hermione's eyes went wide and she felt as if she had just woken up from a dream. It couldn't be him, though. She'd seen quite a few pictures of Harry's father, and while the man did resemble Harry's dad a little bit it wasn't him.

James rolled his eyes at the witch. "Dammit, Maggie, you're the one who said he needed to get back out and stop whingeing about Sonja. Fine, fine, come on then, I'll take you two out to eat and we can hear everything. Your grandparents are waiting for us."

Hermione looked up to Jack and saw that he had his eyes closed. Apparently the thought of eating with his family wasn't what he wanted to do.

After James and Maggie walked away he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Jean. I didn't know my family was going to be here. Hopefully it's not all of them." They walked a few steps before he stopped her. "Listen, I need to warn you. My family isn't like most families. If you want to turn around and run the other way I wouldn't be surprised. If you make it all the way through dinner I'll be amazed."

Hermione's mind was racing a million miles a minute, just like her heart. She could almost taste her pulse. But as she looked up into his eyes she saw that he expected her to leave, that this was the moment he must have been dreading, the reason why he hadn't talked about home or his family. She couldn't do it to him. Additionally, she had to know more about James Potter and if he was somehow related to Harry. "It's just dinner." She saw his shoulders ease and he let out his breath. "Come on."

As they made it up the hallway the atrium opened up and she saw the familiar red robes of Aurors holding back...photographers? Flashbulbs went off, momentarily blinding her, but the spots on the back of her eyes was the least of her worries. The press knew her. She'd given a press conference last month about the house elf legislation. It would all be out. This time she stopped him and turned him around so their backs were away from the press.

"Jack, I have my own confession to make. My name isn't Jean. Well, it is, but..."

"Jack!"

An older male voice caused them to turn around. As soon as she saw him it was as if she felt her world simply drop away from underneath her feet. He was completely white, the famous black hair was gone. The gold rimmed glasses were now somewhat rectangular steel-rimmed, but there was one thing that was certain. There, on the old man's forehead, still visible against the wrinkles, was a very faint lightning-bolt scar. It flashed to her all at once; the motorbike, Granddad, Jack's hair, his eyes...

His voice was weak, but clear. "Hermione?"

"Hermione?" An old woman came up quickly as she could with her cane, her hair grey, eyes wide in shock. "Hermione?"

Hermione Granger stared into they elderly eyes of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. She blinked, opened her mouth and fainted into the arms of Jack Potter as flashbulbs lit up like Christmas fireworks.


	2. Chronological Temporal Displacement

**Time and the Moon**

**Chapter 2: Extended Chronological Temporal Displacement**

She felt consciousness slowly drift in, the feel of a pillow under her head, the weight of covers over her feet. After a deep breath she felt sad, how the dream had slipped away from her, a wonderful dream at first with Jack on that island but it had all turned so strange at the end. Grasping out in her memory to draw back the dream she drew in the details of how it felt with Jack, how it...

"I believe she's waking up."

The woman's voice brought her awake as sharply as being poked by a sewing needle. After raising an eyelid up as slowly as possible to use her vision it was readily apparent that she was not in her little flat. The walls were white, stark white, and there was no window on the side of the bed that she faced.

"Do you think we should start with the questions or the spells?"

A different voice, a male voice that sounded rougher and almost like a growl, but she didn't hear any menace in the words. Did that mean that...it actually happened?

"Questions, Splitaxe." The woman seemed rather put out, as if it was obvious.

Unable to contain her curiosity Hermione sighed, gathered the sheet about her and turned over in bed to put faces to the voice and, more importantly, find out what exactly had happened to her.

"Well, looks like you get your questions now, Charity." The goblin stood next to a desk by the door, wearing a dark blue robe and holding a clipboard in his long-fingered hands. "But I'll start. Good afternoon, Miss. My name is Splitaxe, Herbert Splitaxe. You're safe, unrestrained, and currently in the Department of Mysteries. You've been affected by an Extended Chronological Temporal Displacement, a rather rare anomaly. Only three have been recorded and verified."

Hermione blinked for a moment. "That would explain it, then. A chronological...you're saying that I've traveled through time, correct?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, that's correct. My name is Charity Weasley-Jones, Miss..." She took out a slim piece of metal about the shape of a book but only a few centimeters thick and tapped it with her wand. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? What's your name, dear?"

_Weasley-Jones? _ Hermione stared at her, trying to figure out exactly how she was a Weasley but after a second caught herself with a start. She had time-traveled. Harry was old. After a moment she remembered that she'd been asked a question. "I'm sorry, this is quite a bit to take in." The woman looked over to the goblin, who nodded, and shortly thereafter the witch conjured two chairs next to Hermione's bed. After they sat down she gave Hermione a look that reminded Hermione of the ones her mum gave her when...her mum. "Oh my God."

Herbert Splitaxe slid down from his chair and stood next to Hermione, placing a warm but leathery hand on her arm. "You must be very distressed, young lady. Would you care for a calming draught? Tea?"

"Tea. Please." Hermione sat up fully, drew her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. The realization hit her that her parents were dead by now, probably had been for ages, but for how long? And her mum's insistence on manners had just taken over regarding tea. She had no idea if she could actually drink it or not, but it seemed, well, _rude_ not to accept the offer. Also, people chatted over tea; she needed answers, and perhaps they would answer her questions if...

"Here you are." The witch handed her a cup of tea. "How do you take it?"

"Just white."

Shortly everyone had a cup of tea. Hermione took a sip tentatively, wary of being slipped a potion, but soon realized it was, simply, a cup of tea. It also gave her further time to look at the two that sat in front of her. The goblin's age was hard to gauge, as she didn't really have much experience judging the ages of goblins, but the woman seemed to be about in her late forties to early fifties, a strawberry-blonde somewhat plump with bright blue eyes. It was her eyes that made the decision for Hermione, as they looked...kind.

"Hermione Jean Granger." The tablet floating next to the witch began to slightly vibrate in the air, causing her attention to waver for a moment. "What is that?"

"Dicta-Tablet." The goblin nodded. "I take it you've never seen one, Miss Granger?"

"No, Mister...I'm sorry..."

"Splitaxe, Herbert Splitaxe. It's quite all right. I'll be happy to answer any questions you have but, if you don't mind, we'd like to get the basics down for the documentation before we start our discussion. There are procedures to be followed."

"Of course." Hermione nodded.

The witch smiled at her. "I promise, it won't take long. When is your birthday?"

"Nineteen September, 1979."

"And where do you live?"

"16 Bastet Building, flat 2. London."

"Occupation?"

"Deputy Administrator, Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic."

"Marital Status?"

That caught her off-guard for a moment. "Single."

"Children?"

"What?" Hermione shook her head. "Sorry. No. No children."

The witch looked down at her clipboard, winced, and gave Hermione an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry, but this will be rather involved. Just wait to the end." After a small cough she began to read in a rather monotone voice. "Have you ever experienced any of the following: demonic possession, prolonged exposure to expired potion ingredients, the death of a black cat at midnight on the first day of January, ingestion of dragon sperm, prolonged use of a time-turner..."

"Yes."

The two occupants of the chair looked at each other for a brief second. Splitaxe cleared his throat. "How long did you use a time-turner? It is the time-turner, not the dragon sperm, isn't it?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded. "Third year at Hogwarts."

"A single use or..."

"The entire year. Professor McGonagall gave it to me."

"Oh dear." The witch sat back in her chair for a moment. "With your permission I'd like to cast a diagnostic spell upon you. It will not harm or alter your mind, body or soul in any aspect. Do I have your permission?"

"Yes."

The witch stood up, pointed her wand at Hermione and a slow trickle of bright yellow light poured out of the tip of the wand like water, started at the top of Hermione's head and slowly made its way over her entire body. Hermione felt as if she'd been plunged in lukewarm bathwater, but then the light began to pulse a bit, turned a bright shade of blue and then flashed to white before it faded away.

"Dumbledore's socks!" The witch turned to the goblin. "Herbie, that's off the scale!"

Hermione's patience was at its end. "That's enough! I want you to tell me what's going on, right now!"

Splitaxe waved off the other witch and looked over to Hermione with a patient and calming expression upon his face. "One of the reasons that time-turners were discontinued was that individuals that utilised them over extended periods of time suffered the occasional Micro Chronological Temporal Displacement; in layman's terms it meant that the person who had used the time-turner would experience time gaps. At first it was thought that it was just a trick that the mind played upon the person based on their previous experiments, but after the Department of Mysteries conducted a series of controlled experiments proof was obtained on the 'time skips.' People would actually skip for a few moments in time. Sometime it was merely seconds, other times a few minutes, but they literally skipped in time. You, Miss Granger, skipped in time for approximately sixty-two years. It is currently Monday, the 26th of June, in the year 2062." He paused for a moment. "You fainted upon seeing Minister Potter on Saturday the 24th and have been in a potion-induced coma to stabilise your body. Our experience has been that those individuals who suffer from 'time skips' require rest afterwards. In their case a kip of an hour or so usually does the trick, but with the astounding length of time you've been...we were worried that due to the length of time you've been away that your body might not handle readjustment."

Hermione's brain began working feverishly. Time 'skips' were a side-effect of time-turner use? She'd used the time-turner for a year, but that had been back in third year, six years before her time traveling. It couldn't be that. "How long after extended time-turner use did people experience the skips?"

Splitaxe looked down at his clipboard. "Two years, with a six month margin of error."

"Then I'm not affected." Hermione shook her head. "It was six years after I...when I..."

The goblin nodded. "As I said previously, Miss Granger, you situation is an anomaly."

Charity cleared her throat. "Splitaxe, I believe we're due to give our report within the hour. Perhaps we should leave Miss Granger the reading material."

"Reading material?" Hermione looked at her, still trying to determine how the witch was a Weasley. Finally, she laughed. "I doubt there's a Ministry pamphlet to cover this situation."

Charity shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. But the Minister did suggest that you would be most interested in one specific book." She stood up, went to the small desk at the back of the room, opened a drawer and returned with a rather thick book and laid it on the foot of the bed. "We'll return to answer questions when we can, but until then please touch the red button on the side of the bed if you require anything. There's a private loo over there." She pointed to the door on the far wall. "And since your case is currently re-writing all known research regarding time anomalies, everything in the room is currently being recorded." She held up her hand. "Owing to your...history with the Minister all recordings will be held in the strictest confidentiality. Access is currently limited to Director Splitaxe, myself and the Minister at this time."

Hermione stared at the book on the bed for the longest time, debating whether or not to actually pick it up. By the time she had gathered the courage to pick up and open _The History of Magic_, she was alone.

-ooo-

The book had been updated since she had last read it, obviously. Turning the pages felt comforting and terrifying all at once. She skipped over all of the things that happened during the war with Voldemort, searching the pages afterwards until she found it. An entry on her disappearance. There had been a fire at Chip's cottage, that blonde arsehole who had stolen her book and made lewd suggestions to her on the beach the day she met Jack. The fire had raged out of control, and owing to the extreme inebriation of most of the cottage's inhabitants they had perished in the fire, the extreme heat rendering identification almost impossible. The romance novel she had borrowed from Ginny had been found at the cottage, and from there investigators had pieced her travel arrangements together, combined with a statement from Ginny that she had loaned he the book, causing the investigators to deduce that she had died in the fire. Her grave was next to her parent's. A small plaque with her name on it was located in the Gryffindor common room and a full scholarship to Hogwarts for Muggleborn students was funded in her name, in perpetuity, by Harry Potter.

Suddenly she remembered something from an American author named Mark Twain, that 'results of her death had been greatly exaggerated.' She almost couldn't stand it, looking down at the words, as they seemed to float about and stand on their own, not part of any coherent sentence whatsoever. It didn't stop her insatiable desire for knowledge to abate, though, as she began to devour the book as if she had to turn in four feet of parchment the next day.

And they were all there. Harry, Ginny, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys. Neville. Luna. Her friends had changed magical Britain. After her disappearance Harry had become even more involved with the Aurors, eventually rising to the position of Head Auror and, since 2040, held the position of Minister for Magic.

A soft knock on the door brought her attention up with a snap. She hoped it would be the Department of Mysteries lot again, as she had many more questions. As the door swung open slowly, though, she felt her heart leap into her throat. Harry Potter stood at the door, in a simple but well-cut deep blue robe, hair as white as snow.

"Hermione?" He stood in the doorway, one hand upon the doorknob, uncertain about whether to enter. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not." She slid off the bed, somewhat embarrassed regarding her flimsy white hospital gown. Part of her wanted to go over to him and throw her arms around him and have him tell her it was all one of George's elaborate pranks, that it would all be back to normal in the morning, but the look in his eyes made her stop after a step or two. Those green eyes of Harry's looked worried.

He walked over and stood a few feet from her. They stood there, almost motionless, and finally Harry broke the tension by reaching out and touching her arm.

"It really is you, isn't it?"

"Oh Harry!" She couldn't contain herself and pulled him into a tight hug. As she did so she knew that it was Harry, it felt like him, but it was different. He was...thin. Almost frail. She finally felt his arms around her and knew that he was holding back. His hand reached up, touched her hair for a moment, and then it was like she was back at his house at Godric's Hollow the day it was finally completed.

"Merlin." He pulled away and looked at her. "We...we thought you died in America."

"I just went on holiday, woke up one morning and everything was changed. I had no idea until we came back and Jack..." She put a hand to her mouth. "Harry, is he..."

He nodded. "Jack's my grandson. James, he's our oldest son, he's Jack's father. Jackie's the youngest of four." A smile broke out on Harry's face, a wide smile that threatened to split his head in two. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I've dreamt about showing you what they were like, showing you pictures. Ginny and I used to laugh about what you would think of them." He put his hand into his robe and pulled out a small box. "I...didn't know if..."

"If I'd be mental or not?"

He laughed. "Well, yeah. You're handling this quite well, you know."

"I don't think I am, really." She looked around for chairs but since the Department of Mysteries pair had conjured theirs before there was only a single chair over by the small desk across the room. "I don't have my wand...could you..."

"Oh, of course." Harry took out his wand and in moments two very comfortable overstuffed chairs stood in front of them. He took a seat and as Hermione sat down and tried to cover her legs he opened the box. "You know how you teased me when I built the house that I was trying to compete with Molly and Arthur? Well..." He laughed. "We did. And we beat them."

He handed her a picture and there, in front of the Godric's Hollow house which looked even bigger than when she'd seen it, was the Potter family. Harry and Ginny sat on a little bench while Ginny held a baby in her arms.

"We've got them sorted by age, had to, otherwise it was always a mess. That's James at the end, you've met...he's the oldest. This was taken in '23, so let me think. James was 18. That's Albus next to him, 17, then Lily. She hated being the only girl up until...she's 15 there. Then Arthur and Michael, 13 and 11 and that's when I started really going white. Worse than Fred and George, those two. See how they're pushing each other? That's Andrew, he was 9 and then Gideon, 8. Merlin, I haven't looked at this picture in ages." He tapped his finger on the squirming baby in Ginny's arms. "And this is...and...this is little Hermione."

While Harry was going through all of the names and ages Hermione couldn't look at him, her focus was entirely on the picture. Happy, healthy kids, all the way from adults to a baby. Ginny did, if she admitted it to herself, look a lot like Molly, but much more carefree and fashionable. Harry, though, Harry was as she had always hoped he would be after the war, a happy, beaming, proud father. Harry, who had always dreamt of having a loving family was surrounded by one; his. She felt the tears begin to fall and wiped them away hurriedly with the back of her hand.

"It's ok, we don't call her 'Mione. I know how much you hated that."

She laughed. "Oh Harry, that's not it. I'm just so happy for you. You have your family."

"I do. I do." He looked over to her. "Naming her after you was Ginny's idea. We wanted to do it when Arthur was born, but it was boys right on through. She was a surprise, to all of us." He paused. "But not as much as you. Are...are you ok?"

"Honestly? I have no idea." She sat back against the chair. "I don't know where to begin. I have no clothes except what I brought back, I probably don't even have a flat anymore."

"Ron has your books." His voice was soft. "Everything went to your parent's place, but after your father passed...he bought them from your mum. Said he couldn't bear to let them get all messed up and scattered all over."

"Harry..." She put a hand on his arm. "Is he..."

"He's still alive. Still working with George." He paused for a very long time, looking down at his hands. "He's got three kids, a boy and two girls, plus grandchildren." He turned his face towards her. "You've met his daughter. Charity."

"Ron's daughter." She took a deep breath. "No wonder she looked familiar."

"You haven't asked, but I know you're wondering. He married Verity, remember her?"

"The girl from George's shop?"

"The same." Another long pause of silence was finally broken by Harry's deep sigh. "He didn't take it well, that you...when we..."

"When everyone thought I'd died."

"Yeah. It's not like he was still in love with you, but..."

"And you, Harry? And Ginny? Mum and Dad?"

"It was like Fred's funeral but about a million times worse." He shook his head. "McGonagall...we had a thing afterwards and she almost fell apart. Drunk as hell, too, her an' Hagrid." He laughed. "Never thought I'd see that in my lifetime, a drunk McGonagall."

"And you, Harry. Minister for Magic!" She swelled with pride. "Please tell me you've freed the house elves. What about the werewolves? The centaurs? Goblins now work in the Department of Mysteries, was that you? What about the Muggleborns, are they still discriminated against? You're on the Wizangamot, aren't you? Are there elections now?"

Harry sat back and laughed heartily. "Oh my Merlin, I've missed that. I thought I'd head all that off with the book."

She glanced over at the book lying half-open on the bed. "I just started it not too long ago, I didn't have time."

"It's all in there, trust me. I did help with some things, like the Goblin Acts, but...just read it. I don't remember all the details that you'll want to know."

She gave him a comically perturbed look. "Fine. I will." Then the enormity of reality hit her; it was 2062, Harry was old, everyone she knew was now old or had passed, and like before she had no idea what direction to take her life. Back then, in 2000, it was because she wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but now, in 2062, she wasn't sure what she would do because...

"Hermione, I can hear the gears grinding in there." He tapped her head. "You want to know what happens next, don't you?"

"Well, obviously."

He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up at odd angles. "The press is having a field day, of course. My office has been deluged with e-owls..."

"E-owls?"

"Ah, right, we still used real owls back then. I don't know exactly how it works but its one of George's things, he patterned it off of email but it uses magic. I don't know the details, but they're messages. We've been flooded by them since you showed up with..."

"With Jack." She tucked one of her legs underneath her and shifted away from Harry slightly.

"Yes. With Jack. If seeing you after all these years wasn't enough of a shock, seeing you with my grandson, looking like that..."

"Like what?" She focused on him, scrunching her eyebrows together. "Harry Potter, what are you..."

"Looking like you were in love, or at least some serious infatuation and..." He turned about five different shades of red and started to get up but her hand stopped him. "Hermione..."

"And what?"

He sighed deeply and muttered it under his breath. "And looking freshly-shagged-happy." He held up his hands as if to block her whapping him on the head. "I have eight kids, I know the look, ok?"

"You dirty old man!"

His happiness faded immediately. "I am an old man, Hermione." He patted his wrinkled face. "Look, I'm old. You're not. But you know what? I don't care. You're here." He took her hands in his. "You're really here. We'll sort out the rest." After looking around the room he turned back to her. "I'll see about getting you out of here soon. Bloody boring in here. As soon as Charity and Splitaxe have finished all their tests and documentation I've asked them to let you come back with me and Ginny to Godric's Hollow. Since they kids are all on their own there's plenty of room."

"And after that?" She stared at him as if trying to plant the answer in his head. "What's to become of me, Harry?"

He chuckled and patted her on the hand. "Apparently Jack says he owes you a dinner. As for everything else I'm not sure, but I'll tell them to keep nothing from you. We'll figure it out."

-ooo-

The first week was the hardest. Ron's daughter Charity and Splitaxe completed more tests, asked for pensieve memories, asked tons more questions and finally came to the conclusion that she wasn't mental, cursed, a new type of inferi, a vampire, a clone, a ghost, a poltergeist, a horcrux, a golem or anything else. Finally they presented Hermione with all their documentation and the three of them sat down to examine the issue.

It was when Charity mentioned that the only thing they hadn't ruled out was that she was a new strain of werewolf that Hermione remembered that night she had wished upon the moon. For some reason it had simply disappeared from her memory until that specific time. The new piece of data sent Splitaxe into overdrive researching the Native American legend. It was while he was planning his visit to the island that Hermione got the news she had been waiting for; she was leaving the Department of Mysteries and going with Harry back to Godric's Hollow.

The moment after the portkey left them in front of Harry and Ginny's house filled Hermione with elation and a severe case of nerves. She wanted to see Ginny, to see if her old friend was still the same, but part of her worried that it would never be the same again. As the door opened, and Ginny stepped out with a beaming smile on her face, Hermione hoped that she was just worrying herself too much.

She was. Ginny greeted her warmly, joked about her cane, and sat her down in the large kitchen. After Ginny shooed Harry away an young house elf appeared by Hermione's side.

"Tea...it's the Grangy!"

"Mitzy!" Ginny looked embarrassed. "Mitzy, we'll take tea in here, please."

Hermione saw the little elf wore an approximation of a school girl uniform, white shirt, plaid skirt and a little tie. "Hello, I'm..."

Mitzy nodded ferociously. "You're the Grangy! Mitzy heard you were back! Waits until I tell Mummy!" Her eyes went wide in fear and her voice settle down. "Mitzy be getting tea now, Mrs. Ginny."

As soon as the elf had trotted away Hermione looked over to Ginny in confusion. "I'm almost afraid to ask..."

Ginny settled herself in the chair and sat her cane by the sofa. "It was your house elf legislation, all those years ago. The S.P.E.W. law. You, Hermione Granger, are house elf royalty."

"Bloody hell!"

"HA!" Ginny pointed a finger at her. "I knew it! You curse just like everyone else!"

"After what I've been through, do you blame me?"

Ginny sighed. "No, I don't. And you're so damn young and thin! Oh, here we are." She motioned towards the floating tea service, which was sat down on the table by a very reverent Mitzy. "Thank you, Mitzy. Yes, you may tell the others, but you've done that, haven't you?"

"Mitzy couldn't help it."

"It's quite all right, dear." Ginny picked up the box and flipped it open. "Since I knew you were coming I thought this would be appropriate. Sprinkles or chocolate? I can't remember."

Hermione laughed. "Sprinkles but chocolate isn't bad, either."

For the next hour the two friends played catch-up on an almost unprecedented scale. Ginny glossed over the obvious by just calling Hermione's absence 'when you were away' and launched into everything else. George's four marriages (Angelina Johnson, Susan Bones, Angelina Johnson, Angelina Johnson), Percy opening his legal practice and marrying a Muggle woman, Charlie's eventual wedding to a much younger Romanian witch, culminating eventually with the story of Ron and Verity.

"I hope you don't hex me for this Hermione..."

"Can't. They haven't given me my wand back yet. That's next week."

"Oh. Sorry." Ginny took a sip of tea. "I know you and Ron ended peacefully...George lost a bet on that, by the way...I'm sorry, but after you'd gone Ron dated a few times, never anything serious. He and Verity were always at the shop, and they told each other everything, friends first. Then, when he started developing feelings for her, he got worried and came over to see me. He..."

"Let me guess." Hermione sat back against the chair, the shock of Ginny being old having worn off long ago. "He wasn't sure because of what happened to us, right? I've been there. Am there? It's confusing. But he..."

"Right, he wasn't sure." Ginny narrowed her eyes and looked at her friend. "And this is something I never thought I'd ask you, but what are your intentions towards my grandson? When you left you and Ron just broke up, are you just using him?"

"Ginny Weasley!"

"Potter, dear, it's Potter but never mind me." She waved her off. "Don't answer, I'm sorry, ignore this old woman. I'm just protective of him after..."

"Sonja." Hermione crossed her arms. "He told me all about her."

"Not good." Ginny pointed to her. "Not about telling you, about the arm thing. I remember that."

"Oh. Sorry." Hermione relaxed. "Honestly?"

"Hermione?" Ginny's expression softened. "Please. It's us. I've missed this so much. So many times I've wanted to Floo you when Harry was being stubborn and a pain in the arse and I wanted to sell the children and move to Jamaica, I needed you but you weren't here. I'm sorry, I know to you it's just been a few weeks or months or whatever since you and Ron broke up, but it's been over fifty years for me."

"Ginny, I dated your brother and now I think I'm dating your grandson. Who in the world could ever say that to you?"

"Lavender Brown came close, actually, but it was my son, not my grandson. Went on a date with James once. Harry came unglued, and he was the calm one."

"I...well...bloody fucking hell!"

"She's still a tart, even at her age." Ginny rolled her eyes but then turned back to Hermione. "He wrote to us, when you were on the island. Said he'd met an English woman over there named Jean. He and Harry are very close, closer than he is with his father." She sighed and crossed her legs. "That's a firewhiskey story, but it isn't mine to tell. But the letters...he was happy, Hermione."

"I was too."

"Well, he's coming over to dinner tonight. You remember all of Mum's Sunday dinners over at the Burrow?" Ginny laughed a long time, her eyes crinkling in happiness. "All of my children and grandchildren are coming over. It's just the same. Oh." She stopped suddenly. "Ron has asked about you, of course, but he didn't know if you wanted him to come."

"Of course." Hermione smiled. "I'd love to see him. But tell me, or do you have a picture...I don't want to be too shocked."

"I understand." Ginny took out her wand and waved it at the far wall. A medium-sized picture frame floated off the wall and landed in Hermione's hands.

The cherry wood frame showed a Quidditch pitch, four men standing next to each other holding brooms. Harry Potter, James Potter, Ron Weasley and Jack Potter. Harry was salt and pepper, James was full black, Jack had long black hair and Ron Weasley was completely bald.


End file.
